All the moisture in her mouth had dried up. She inched closer to him, trying to make noise by kicking and crunching the snow. He was unpredictable when startled, and she didn’t want to get shot accidentally.
He split another log, grunting as he did it, and then rested his tool on the ground next to his body. He pulled his scarf down under his chin and blew a voluminous puff of vapor into the air. She edged closer, almost stomping, about fifteen feet from him. Finally, he turned toward her.
His eyebrows rose, and he looked around as if his mind switched into a different gear. “Babe, it isn’t your day to cut wood.”
She smiled under her bundled up scarf and came closer to him. “I wanted to see what you were doing,” she replied.
He planted the axe into the snow. “Chopping wood. Like always.”
He wasn’t buying the excuse. She looked around at the cords of wood stacked in rows and then to a tarp bursting with wood under it. Further beyond was a path into the forest where Sean had felled multiple trees with the electric chainsaw before the generator was taken. “I’m not sure we need to keep chopping more wood.”
“We always could use more,” he said, tilting his head. “You came out here to talk about chopping wood?”
She said nothing for a minute. “I wanted to talk to you.”
“Well, I could have guessed that,” he said, picking up a few pieces of split wood and tossing them toward the tarp. “You could talk to me inside, you know?”
“I wanted some privacy.”
He froze for a second and then tossed another log. “Privacy.”
“I don’t know how to have this conversation, Sean, so please don’t make it harder than it has to.”
He straightened his upper body and put his hands on his hips. For a few moments, he looked toward the house, biting on his lip, and then looked to her. “You want to know if I did it.”
She tried to say something to balm the harshness of the question, but all that came out was, “Sean, I don’t—”
His nostrils emitted vapor as dark as smoke. “You think I did it?”
“I don’t know what to think.”
“But you think I did it.”
“I’m not playing games with you, Sean. I don’t know.”
“Would you still love me if I said I did?”
Her tongue searched for moisture to soothe her parched throat but found none. “Did you?” she got out.
She looked into those dark eyes she had stared into so often and loved so deeply. Each second that passed was torture. She just wanted him to exclaim that he wasn’t capable of it, that her brother’s claims were all wrong. His eyes fixed on hers, like they were piercing through her.
“Did you do it?” she asked with more force.
“No.”
She examined his eyes for a few more seconds and then felt the weight from her shoulders lift, allowing them to relax. Her head dropped, her chin touching her chest. He wasn’t lying. She could always sense it, like his eyes were giving her a peek into his soul. He didn’t have his look—the one he had when he was lying.
She didn’t realize he had closed the gap between them, but soon he had his arms around her. She returned the hug, shedding tears while he stroked her back with his gloves, the swishing sound of synthetic fibers rubbing against one another filling her ears. Her body felt lighter than it had since the start of the disaster, like a storm had come and terrorized her, but had passed. Relief spread through her bones in the arms of her husband.
And that lasted a short while before the uneasiness returned. She pushed it down. Pushed it down and down and down.
Chapter 33
MICHAEL LAY AWAKE staring at the ceiling as shadows from the fire danced around it. He hadn’t slept that night. In fact, he hadn’t slept more than an hour at a time for two straight weeks. Every time he grew relaxed, his body felt like it was falling, and he would jolt awake with terror pulsating through him. His first thought was always about Sean.
He imagined opening his eyes and looking down the barrel of Sean’s gun or Sean standing over him with an axe in hand. Every night, though, he would wake to find Sean in his sleeping bag or gone somewhere.
Sean had the upper hand. Elise refused to speak to Michael about it anymore, saying they couldn’t know what had caused Andrew’s death. Michael knew—teenagers don’t just die. Their throats don’t seal up for the hell of it. He was murdered, but until Elise saw the situation for what it was, Sean had control.
At least he thought he did.
Michael listened to the soft breathing and occasional snores of his family around him. He turned to look at his wife, resting under multiple layers of blankets. She had been through so much—more than he could imagine. She had been healing. Until Andrew died. Now she was back to not eating. If Sean had his way, she wouldn’t have a chance at recovery. At survival. No doubt in Michael’s mind. Sean would try something against him soon. And if he died, Kelly would no doubt follow. She didn’t deserve it, not after all she had been through. Not after being violated and then losing Molly.
He wouldn’t allow it.
Michael bided his time, the clock ticking away, using the quiet moments to build his courage. Elise wouldn’t understand why Sean had to die, but it didn’t matter. Kelly and his lives were more important. Elise and Aidan’s lives were more important. Sean had gotten a taste of blood, and now he wasn’t satisfied to let it end with just the attackers. Or the people lying in the snow pile out front. Or Andrew.
He could sense the sun rising in the thick clouds from the windows to the east. No direct sunshine, just a glow that let him know dawn had arrived. He had observed Sean’s routine for a week. Daylight would come, and Sean would rise. On the days nobody else was supposed to cut wood, he got up slowly and girded himself to endure the cold outside. It would be no different today.
Sean bent at the waist and stretched his arms. Michael kept his breath smooth and soft, flashing his eyelids open and closed to get a read on the situation. He did this every minute. Like a lagging video, he watched Sean tiptoe over Michael and Kelly toward the garage. Sean threw on a few of his underlayers before grabbing the soot-covered coat and pants just outside the door. He then shut it behind him.
Michael waited on the off-chance Sean came back. A minute passed. Two. Sean was usually out there for at least thirty minutes, so time was pressing. But patience was key. If Sean became suspicious, Michael would never get another opportunity.
He listened to his heart accelerating, trying to calm his fragile nerves by counting the seconds. One-one thousand. Two-one thousand. Three-one thousand. Each second bringing him closer to what he was going to do. When two minutes passed, he looked at the garage door. Shut.
Sean wasn’t coming back.
He pushed himself upwards and slipped out of his sleeping bag, noting if anyone else stirred. He kept his eye on Elise and Aidan mostly. They were closest to the stairs, and he would have to get over them without anyone waking. He could circle around the dining room and go through the kitchen, but the prevalence of creaking floorboards would guarantee someone would hear him if he went that way.
Nevertheless, each step caused a faint creak, Michael wincing at the noises. He powered through the discomfort. When he reached Elise, he looked down at her, her mouth open and wafting toxic morning breath into the air. He placed his right foot over her sleeping bag and shifted his weight onto it. No reaction. He brought his feet together. Nothing happened.
Emboldened, he crept toward the staircase and started up. The stairs were the creakiest of all. So, he kept his feet on the very edges, his left next to the wall and his right near the railing. Each step emitted a muffled noise, but it was deep in the wood, and he was convinced he was the only person hearing it. After a minute, he was at the top.